


East

by drvology



Category: Batman (Unspecified canon), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drvology/pseuds/drvology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The comfortable prediction that the sun would indeed rise again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	East

**Author's Note:**

> B:TAS is my favorite Batverse incarnation; it's become my default setting when imagining the characters &c. That established, I think the fic I write can be aptly labeled 'canon & time nonspecific.'  
> → Written in an hour for 60_minute_fics challenge group @ LJ || 102006 Prompt #3 _Sunrise -- They're breathtaking. They're romantic. Unless you're hungover. Or you're a vampire. Hey, how 'bout you write about one?_

They saw them often; this line of work made that a given. After each exhausted night--by turns fruitless and monotonous and victorious--it came to them, when the universe flicked its wrist and on, on everything unwound. There were mornings when nothing was more satisfying than watching the center of their tiny slice of all things come into focus once again, hot red-orange blaze so close without the punishing heat of day.

There were other mornings when, gritty-eyed and beyond bruised, waiting for the dawn was the last thing on their minds, tumble into a shower then bed and each other's arms all that could be mustered before the sun crested the far horizon.

All types, the next as sure as the last, as sure as the one that would follow.

Sometimes dusky and mellow, smog from the city a heavy mantle low over the skyline. It stretched the colors and diffused the light until it was a nebulous glow, the feeling of pink over orange over blue, without truly being any of those colors.

Sometimes bright and cold, winter harsh, snow-capped clouds and rooflines crystalline shimmers in slate gray and powder blue.

Sometimes the earth spun slower, took its time, expanded like a breath full and indulgent that loosens the diaphragm in a slow-build swell. Others the sun swept across the horizon in a blink, sharp snap of harsh dawn to end a long night with sudden day.

All had their own personalities--feel, rhythm, timbre. The softness of the air around them, the cut-rush of an angled wind, the whisper of the world summoning itself to wake.

Batman pressed his shoulders open and let his head fall back. He rested against the granite, stared into the sky, felt grounded up here in the clouds on a flying vault of rock that reminded him of a mountaintop, really an art deco curve of architecture. He yawned, shuddered over with a return deep inhale.

Today was in between.

Not spectacular. No hallelujah choir stout beams of light bursting from the heavens beyond this mortal gravity. No roil of colors so intense they seemed false, laid over like a dream. No wisp of cirrus above, icy and bluewhite perfect, column of nimbus below, flat-belly and cream-curl top infused with magenta and frost, umber and gold.

Not dismal. Not the downpour gray of winter doldrums. Not the blank, eerie fluorescent bulb blue-white spread of late fall, everything alight seemingly all at once. Not the heat of summer, where even the dome of sky was too exhausted to bother with rousing itself from bed too early or with too great an effort.

There was a quiet drift of clouds in the distance, cool enough for fog over the water, warm enough to encourage it into lifted billows. The sun was yet behind the curve, pale yellow limned ripple awaiting its mark to blossom. High overhead the stars winked, brilliant pinprick twirls held to the last, and the moon was plump and shy, pale shell-white, where she hung in the distance.

It would be warmer today than it had been yesterday; it would be a colder week than they'd had so far.

Overall Batman had no preference; he wasn't a man of sunrise assonance. Despite, he appreciated the beauty, the breath of peace, the normalcy. He needed the humble reminder that his all-consuming quest was nothing but a faint trace on the grand scale of things, far outweighed by something so mundane, so glorious, as the comfortable prediction that the sun would indeed rise again.

Nightwing stretched, shifted side to side, leaned further into the secure cradle of Batman's chest. He smiled, face a contrast--one side rose-soft, the other indigo-shade--eyes bright with satisfied contentment and the reaching fingers of sunlight. Job well done, another night survived, just we two. He nuzzled Batman's neck, that smile easy to feel warm and full, pouty sweet, tender kisses on exposed skin.

Batman closed his eyes.

Light broke the gentle haze of predawn, a spear to defeat the initial tendrils; it was blood-amber rich, seen through lowered lids so vibrant so lush, felt like the warmth of those kisses on his cheek. He pulled Nightwing closer, tightened his arms, dropped kisses along the edge of Nightwing's mask, temple to temple.

They shifted, long sigh together as the earth unfolded around them, Nightwing shoulder lean in, head tucked beneath Batman's chin. Batman rested his cheek on blue-black hair overlong, dragged over it while he inhaled, rustle-soft caress perfect against his lips.

This sunrise--this all he needed to be sure of--Batman's favorite.


End file.
